I just can't get it off my mind. Leonard Cohen.... cheerful? My friend Bhumi sent me a Leonard Cohen interview published over the weekend in Saturday's Toronto Globe and Mail that sounded like a visit with your favorite uncle. You know, the one who gave you your first beer, or talked to you about the birds and the bees when you didn't want to ask your mom. Just hanging out with Leonard, talking about anything you want to, drinking wine, eating good bread, looking at art... I could, well, really dig this. Can I come over, too?
I came away from the interview with a nice, warm feeling. That, despite all the dark songs and poetry, despite his loss of millions of dollars recently, despite what looked like an endless quest--the longing and yearning, somehow, we overlooked the Hope.
I came away from the interview with a nice, warm feeling. That, despite all the dark songs and poetry, despite his loss of millions of dollars recently, despite what looked like an endless quest--the longing and yearning, somehow, we overlooked the Hope.
Leonard is gonna be all right.
Perhaps there is a lesson in all this... that even in the darkest mind there may be a slight crack where the light gets in. ( trite, I know, but it works) Sheesh, maybe dogs and cats are sleeping side by side, perhaps peace in the Mideast will spark. Who knows what else is possible?
Sara Hampson writes, "Cohen, now 72, novelist, poet and singer/songwriter, is a cornerstone of Canadian culture, but he dances in our heads mostly unseen, like a beautiful idea. "
Perhaps there is a lesson in all this... that even in the darkest mind there may be a slight crack where the light gets in. ( trite, I know, but it works) Sheesh, maybe dogs and cats are sleeping side by side, perhaps peace in the Mideast will spark. Who knows what else is possible?
Sara Hampson writes, "Cohen, now 72, novelist, poet and singer/songwriter, is a cornerstone of Canadian culture, but he dances in our heads mostly unseen, like a beautiful idea. "
And she ends with this passage below:
Earlier, he had explained that even if despair has lessened, challenges remain. “This isn't very different from the monastery,” he says, referring to his current situation. “It's the same kind of life, which is sometimes difficult, like everybody else's. It's a struggle for significance and self-respect, and you know, for righteous employment, to be doing the right thing.”
Part of that, clearly, is inviting people, strangers even, into his house of unadorned walls, simple white curtains and old wood floors, nourishing them with food and ideas and hours of delightful conversation, and then sending them back out into the world, the one with the smokers and the drizzle and the pain.
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